Throughout most of our discussion we have focused on the role which the elite played. In part, this is natural: the elite controlled the records which have survived. Popular attitudes are more difficult to deduce. It is far more difficult to determine why, for example, the community decided to testify against Alison Dick in 1633, let alone in 1621. Sometimes the complaints went back over years and demonstrated how long grudges were held within these communities. But how willing were neighbours to testify? Did they ask the session to arrest the community witch because they had had enough? Or, was it only once the process began they were willing to testify?
The process began with the elite’s concern, with the decision at the session or presbytery level to investigate a certain woman as a suspected charmer or witch. The populace did not initiate witch-hunts. This conclusion (stated so boldly for something we can only surmise) can be supported only from circumstantial evidence, yet the evidence when taken together is solid. We have seen no instance when an individual has presented him or herself before the session and charged someone as a witch. It was the church court which began the investigation, then called for witnesses from the community. The contrast becomes all the more obvious when we look at those situations where someone did appear before the session and made the charge that someone was slandering them and calling them a witch. For example, in Culross in 1649 Jonet Paterson appeared before the session to accuse Isobell Stewart and Bessie Cowsey of ‘calling her a witch’. It was only when thus challenged, that Isobell Stewart appeared and stated that Paterson was indeed a witch, and she could prove this.34 Again in Aberdour in 1650, Isobel Inglis only appeared to accuse Janet Anderson of murder by witchcraft, after Janet charged Isobel with slandering her as a witch.35 Even the deathbed accusation made by James Keddie against Janet Durie seems to have found its way to the ears of the presbytery of Kirkcaldy, not because of a direct accusation made by a member of Keddie’s family on the floor of the court,36 but because of community rumour. Indeed the very idea of having to clear one’s name before the church court when someone ‘called’ you a witch, indicates that these rumours were taken seriously and could lead later to one being brought before the session or presbytery. Initiative was shown in trying to clear one’s name: there is no evidence of initiative in formally accusing others before the session. Only in one instance, Helen Young in Balmerino, did an individual come forward and confess that she was a witch.
Another indirect factor which suggests that the populace did not initiate charges against the local witches comes from the number of instances when individuals were charged with consulting witches. The community knew who the local witch might be. They also knew who in the community might provide a charm, or proof that they had indeed been bewitched. David Zeman continued to be consulted by various members of the community even though he had been placed in ward by the presbytery of St. Andrews. They seem to have perceived him in a positive light, as a healer and someone who could name those who were responsible for their misfortune. David Zeman had been able to assure Thomas Watson that it was Beatrix Adie who had taken the milk from his cow. He also had a cure: go to Beatrix and ask her to restore the milk again in God’s name. This, according to Thomas Watson, solved the problem.37 The populace seemed glad to have someone with Zeman’s skill among them. Even the bailies saw nothing wrong with allowing him to go with Walter Gourlay to see if Gourlay’s son had been bewitched (Gourlay had someone in mind, Margaret Smith, a suspicion Zeman confirmed). The continual concern by sessions and presbyteries to stop people consulting healers, charmers and witches suggests that the populace were not bringing these individuals before the church courts to have them disciplined.
Even in those cases which involved sharp tongues, irritable personalities and direct suspicions of acts of malefice, there is no indication that the community took the initiative in prosecution. William Coke and Alison Dick’s very public spat would naturally have come to the attention of the session. There is no indication in the original notation that anyone had formally charged either. Indeed the first witnesses merely recounted what had been said in a public place.38 Equally relevant is the fact that when Alison Dick had been charged more than a decade previously, little information came forward despite a call from the pulpit.39 Similarly, the session in Newburgh called in 1653 for more information about Katherine Key. Initial charges had been made, but no more were added in 1655.40 One explanation for this lack of further complaints might be that all the acts of ill will had been discovered. Equally plausible is the notion that the community feared its witches, and was reluctant to testify unless it was clear that the result would be the removal of the source of their problems. The populace might testify; the evidence suggests that they did not initiate witch-hunts. This makes the response of communities to national trends more understandable, and also suggests why communities were able to name suspects when called upon to do so.
As well as giving evidence against individual suspects, the populace also chose under different circumstances to oppose the hunting of witches. This opposition came mostly from family members especially during those times when the hunt spread beyond the usual suspects. Grissel Gairdner’s husband had successfully intervened to prevent her execution during the hunt which took place around 1597. At the time of her second trial in 1610 she was a widow.41 Others, for example George Hedderick of Pittenweem and some ‘wicked persons’ in Inverkeithing during the 1649 hunt were accused of giving suspects advice on how they might escape being convicted.42 During the hunt which swept St. Andrews presbytery in 1645 Andro Strang fought to have his wife Christian Roch set free ‘using all means for obtaining heirof’.43 Others appealed to the Privy Council or Committee of Estates, as did David Geddie and David Yuile in 1633, and Robert Brown in 1649.44 The need to remove members of session and bailies from office in Inverkeithing is perhaps the most clear indication of opposition. The need to have forty to fifty of the strongest young men of Pittenweem in arms for the executions in 1643, is a more subtle indication that opposition was feared.45 It is not surprising to find this evidence of opposition coming at times when hunts of some magnitude were underway. Isolated witches or those who had alienated their community might not have much support; but for those caught when named by dying witches or suspected in serial witch-hunts, popular support, if only from family, was possible.
The general populace thus had a mixed relationship to the witch-hunts which occurred in their various communities. At times people were willing to give evidence, in particular against an especially troublesome neighbour or someone suspected of various acts of ill will. At other times, the community took a more passive role, either out of fear or a desire to have people in their communities who could offer to them cures and information about who else might be casting spells against them. Direct opposition arose during times of significant witch-hunting, in particular when those accused suddenly were people who heretofore had no previous reputation within the community.
The events in Pittenweem in 1704 and 1705 were distinct. Here the populace took direct action when the authorities failed to deal with Janet Cornfoot. But even this incident should not be seen as the result of an ignorant, superstitious rabble. It was, after all, the church courts which began to seek witches in Pittenweem. The ministers and bailies, if they did not take part in the actual lynching, seem to have taken no action to prevent it nor did the elite seek to deter further actions against those most strongly considered to be witches. There was a strange interrelationship between elite and populace, even at this late date. The true split which had emerged was within the elite itself.
This interrelationship between elite and the general population was vital. The elite controlled the timing of the hunts, the when and where. The populace had a different attitude to the ‘witch’ within the community. That individual was often sought out for her ability to cure or offer charms. Yet, such power could be dangerous and frightening
. The curses of Alison Dick must have been difficult to live with. To those in her community she was a witch. When called upon to do so, and one assumes when there is some hope that the complaints will be taken seriously, a local witch could be identified. They were, however, rarely identified by the populace unless this individual was already suspected by a church court. Then, evidence could be and was presented but the populace did not take the initiative and name someone as a witch unless they were asked. This interaction also affected the very notion of what or who a ‘witch’ was. Christina Larner suggested that in the writing of the history of European witchcraft it was evident that elite values eventually altered how the populace conceived of the witch.46 The demonic pact and the witches’ sabbat are often conceived as one of the central features of the Scottish witch-hunt. The Scottish legal theorist William Forbes expressed in 1730 the traditional belief that witchcraft was ‘wrought by Covenant or Compact with the Devil, express or Tacite’.47 In discussing the difference between English and European witchcraft, Larner noted that the English Witchcraft Acts
knew nothing of the notion common to Roman Law countries such as Scotland that the crime was that of being a witch, that the primary act of witchcraft was the Demonic Pact, and that all witches were part of a Satanic conspiracy.48
Geoff Quaife distinguished between the beliefs of the Scots peasantry and those of the French peasantry:
On the other hand the Scots populace generally accepted the reality of the Devil but played down his sovereignty. They readily accept the concept of the pact, sexual intercourse between Devil and his followers and the link between ill-fame and diabolic alliance – concepts resisted by the peasantry in other parts of Europe. Yet even the Scottish lower orders did not incorporate adoration of Satan into their image.49
Larner’s comments reflect what the elite believed. But did this belief move easily to the peasantry, as Quaife suggests?
As both Larner and Quaife have also noted, elite notions of demonic theory, sabbats, the presence of the Devil, and the demonic pact, are most clearly evident in records which originated from the central government.50 In discussing a witch-hunt which occurred in South-west Scotland in 1671, Larner noted that the concern with the demonic pact which was found in the records of the Circuit Court had not existed in the initial accusations made at the local level.51 The evidence from Fife supports this idea that traditional concerns were the primary interest of the local community, as distinct from the elite concerns with demonology. The demonic pact, and other elements of elite theory seem to have had little impact on initial accusations. Indeed it is possible to argue that they were not even central to the local clergy or local officials. These individuals were willing to prosecute cases of witchcraft and even execute people with little thought to the finer points of pact or sabbat. To further test this theory it is necessary to note again where and when concepts such as the pact or meetings with the Devil occurred, and how prevalent these were among the elite, before seeing if such ideas influenced the populace.
In Fife, the Devil was almost exclusively a concern of Dunfermline presbytery and even here his name is generally confined to those records which originated from or pertained to the central government. During the hunt in Inverkeithing in 1621 the commissions issued by the Privy Council noted that the suspects had met with the Devil and entered his service.52 Two documents before the High Court, those involving suspects from Inverkeithing in 1649 and the accused from Culross in 1675, included the notion of entering into the Devil’s service and in some cases having sealed that bargain with the act of sexual intercourse.53 This most explicit feature of elite demonic theory – sex with the Devil – occurred only one other time, in the case of Lillias Adie before the kirk session of Torryburn in 1704.54 Indeed, the other references to the Devil’s presence are very ambiguous. Grissel Gairdner from Cupar Presbytery, who also appeared before the High Court, was accused of having consulted with the Devil.55 During the hunt in Kirkcaldy Presbytery in 1649, it was claimed that some of the accused had met with the Devil, while others had drunk his health.56 We have also noted the role the Devil played in the case of Alison Dick. The Devil does appear in Fife witchcraft cases. What is interesting is that his appearances seem to be primarily in those documents which originated from the central government, and while the Devil’s presence may have increased somewhat over time it was still not universal nor often that crucial. Sabbats and sex were not a main feature of local concern or belief.
The notion of some kind of demonic pact appears far more frequently. Yet even here the source for this information tended to be commissions issued by the Privy Council and not every commission made reference to this pact. The text of the commissions issued on January 23, 1662, simply state that the accused have ‘acknowledge themselves to be guiltie of witchcraft’.57 Because they tended to follow certain formulaic ways of establishing the charges, the text of commissions are not always the most reliable of sources. Still, it is noteworthy that even here and even as late as 1662 it was not always considered essential to include the notion of the demonic pact. Still, it is within commissions which we do find the most frequent references to the pact. Robert Maxwell’s confession, before the presbytery of Dunfermline, to having entered into a pact with the Devil was unusual. He made this confession after being warded and before a commission was sought.58
If the presence of the Devil and the notion of the demonic pact are relatively rare in Fife, the virtual absence of the witches’ sabbat is even more surprising. The clearest articulation of the idea of sabbat was that describing the meeting in the abandoned West Kirk in Culross in 1675. Apart from this one incident, what we find is an occasional reference to the Devil sitting drinking in people’s houses, or vague references to gatherings at which uncertain numbers of individuals were present. Yet, details are scarce. Most remarkably, when confronted with clear elements of what could have been interpreted as a sabbat, the clergy seemed unaware of what they were witnessing. The meeting by the lake of the unruly women where Andrew Patrick claimed to have seen Elspet Seath, should have been transformed by the members of the presbytery of Cupar into a sabbat. We should expect to see them more concerned about what these women were doing and to aks more questions about the man who stood amidst their dancing, yet we do not. Why? The obvious, if surprising, answer is that these elite notions of the sabbat had not strongly taken hold, not only among the populace but even among the clergy.
If European elite notions of demonic witchcraft had been dramatically unsuccessful in shaping the picture of the Fife witch, why was there the concern for the demonic pact? If we look closely at the concern for these pacts or bargains in the few cases where they exist in the local records, as opposed to commissions, it is clear that not all of the elite elements (in particular as we have noted the sealing of the bargain through the act of sexual intercourse) were generally present. Instead what we see is a concern with giving oneself over, from the crown of the head to the souls of the feet, into the Devil’s service. This act was sometimes followed by the marking of the body by the Devil. Larner has written that ‘witch-beliefs represent an inversion of the positive values of the society concerned’.59 Note how this mild form of pact is a complete inversion of baptism. In a sermon preached in 1697 at the time of the Paisley trials, James Hutchisone discussed the demonic pact:
It requires that there be a reall compact between Satan & that person either personally drawn up & made, or Mediately by parents immediat or mediat having power of the person: adding yr unto his mark. The Ground of my assertion is this, there is no Less requisite to the constituting a person a visible professor of christ, then a personal compact and the external sign of Baptism supper-added, or a reall compact made . . . No Less doth Satan require of them that will follow in his way then either personal covenanting with him, and recei-ving his mark upon yr flesh, or that the parent give their children to him, and they receive hi
s mark . . .60
There is no comparable evidence from Fife. Still, such a conception of a pact as the opposite of baptism, particularly among individuals who only seem to have been able to think in terms of such absolutes, one served God or the Devil, and could not be neutral, seems plausible. This even explains to some degree the concern for others who were present, for if some were opposed to God, there might be others.
Clearly, elite notions and beliefs did not deeply permeate Fife society. Instead we have a mixture of elite and folk beliefs in which elite notions while sometimes evident were not dominant. Indeed the popular conception of the witch remained remarkably resilient. Beliefs about fairies were as likely to be woven into this picture as were beliefs about the demonic. The early case involving Alison Piersoun clearly showed explicit references to fairies. Yet those references continued, even though they were mostly implicit. The meeting by the lochside which Elspeth Seath attended fits the description of a fairy revel equally well, if not better than, a sabbat. Note that the women did mischief to Patrick by dragging him into the lake. Jean Bizet in Torryburn was tormented on her late night walk home after a few drinks. The session believed she had been tormented by Satan. Yet fairies also traditionally tormented people when discovered alone at night. Once warded, Lillias Adie confessed to being a witch, even to having had sex with the Devil. But there are other parts of her testimony which stand out as being contrary to elite notions. When asked if the Devil had a sword, she said he ‘durst not use a sword’. Nothing in elite belief explains this: however, the fact that fairies could not touch metal does. Similarly, her statement that the Devil’s feet could not be heard when leaving fits more comfortably with a description of a fairy than a description of Satan.61 The resilience of the belief in fairies and its being woven into the concept of witchcraft in Fife needs to be further explored. Still, it is clear that elite conceptions did not simply sweep away popular notions of what constituted a witch.62
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